To Making It Count
by Pupskt
Summary: Sequel to My Father, Jack! Follows the life of Shannon Dawson. Four years have gone by, and Shannon and Peter's love has never faltered. Her parents had once toasted on a ship that was destined to sink--"To making it count!" Can Shannon do exactly that?
1. Prologue

**A/N: Wow. I mentioned something about a sequel, and what do you know? Only _three months later,_ I decide to actually do it. Well, here it is.**

**Prologue**

As a little girl, my mom used to tell me her story about when she was on the Titanic every night before I went to bed. It was a love story—that ended in tragedy. Sometimes I thought she was making it up. How could it be possible? The only similar story I could think of was Romeo and Juliet. In my mother's case, she was Juliet. This red-haired Juliet was being forced into an arranged marriage, with a man so horrid that she would have rather been dead then go through with it. And just in time, her Romeo appeared, and saved her. The only problem was Romeo and Juliet came from feuding societies--the poor and the wealthy. First and third class. Despite this, together, they defeated the horrid fiancé and the money-craving mother. Everything was wonderful until tragedy struck. Juliet's Romeo was gone. He would never come back. And so Juliet was forced to face the world on her own, and conquer whatever challenges that came her way.

However, my mother's story was also very different from Shakespeare's version. First, my mother became pregnant—with me. And my father—my mother's Romeo, turned out to be alive, as we found out when I was thirteen. My father and my mother ended up getting married, and were destined to live happily ever after. So, Shakespeare's love story was different from my parent's. His ended in tragedy, and theirs did not.

Of course, I hadn't known this as a little girl, when my mother would murmur the wonderful and horrifying words to me before I fell asleep. I hadn't known my father was alive. So, at the moment, it _had _ended in tragedy.

Taking into account that my mother's story isn't exactly Romeo and Juliet, I can say that I am very happy with the ending. The good defeated evil and true love conquered all. Even for me. My own personal Romeo was my destiny.

While aboard the R.M.S. Titanic, the setting of which my mother's version of Romeo and Juliet occurred, my father had been invited to dinner in the first class--the opposing end of this feud. As prejudiced as the wealthy might have been, they sat with my father--an unwelcome member at the table—and toasted. "_To making it count_," they had cheered.

With destiny by my side, I had always questioned how I could have gotten off so easily. It had seemed too simple. I had met my Romeo, and he was soon to whisk me away so we could be together forever. Why didn't _we_ have challenges? Of course, I didn't _want_ to have challenges, but it was almost as if I'd been anticipating something to happen, something to go wrong.

But then again, destiny was by my side. No matter what went wrong, it would always be there.

So, as I waited for this wrongness to happen or not to happen, I would just have to remember the red-haired Juliet and her Romeo, and how the opposite sides of the feud were joined together for one night only and the pledge they had declared as equals.

_To making it count._

And that's exactly what I would do.

**REVIEW PLEASE!!**


	2. Chapter One

**A/N All the stuff about the Great Depression may not be completely accurate. (I only got a B+ in social studies!) Bear with me!!**

**Chapter One**

**_May 21st, 1930_**

Friday evenings were always the hardest, the most dreadful for those who worked at Scott Jory's Art Supplies and Galleries. Including myself. Honestly, I didn't care to stay an extra hour so we could all discuss changes that were to be made in a desperate attempt to keep the shop open. We had already let go of three employees. Now all who were left were me, Mr. Jory, my dad and Jonathon, the quiet man who had worked with Mr. Jory and my dad the longest. We didn't bother working on weekends anymore, since hardly anyone ever came and it seemed a waste of time. To me, all this discussing on the amount of stock we would have to cut back on was just another way for us to wallow in our economic downfall. Every week, we ordered fewer supplies to sell since hardly anyone came in. These days, people could do without an extra paintbrush or a sketched portrait of themselves. I did feel bad for Mr. Jory and my dad, however. They had put blood, sweat, and tears into keeping this store open, and I was afraid it wouldn't last much longer. And I did work here, and I would be disappointed if I lost my job. They weren't necessarily easy to get around here.

"If we cut back on twenty five percent of our stock," Mr. Jory explained, showing us our receipts from the week, which only amounted to ten customers, "and if we put everything else on sale, we may be able to make it through."

I toyed with my engagement ring, eager to head home. I wanted to complete a drawing I had been working on that morning.

When the meeting was over, I went into my dad's office to get my jacket and I waited for dad to be done talking to Mr. Jory so we could leave. He eventually came out of Mr. Jory's office, grabbed his coat from his own and then we started to walk home.

It was a cool night and the waves could be heard crashing to the shore, even though we were several blocks away from the beach.

We walked in silence at first, and my dad seemed to be deep in thought.

"I think Mr. Jory's plan will work," I remarked eventually, trying to be optimistic. "I really don't see how it couldn't."

My dad chuckled a little bit, probably at my over-enthusiasm. "Oh, angel, I hope so too. But, things are easier said than done."

"I wouldn't say that," I disagreed.

My dad smiled, intrigued. "And why wouldn't you?"

I shrugged. "Well, I mean you and me both have said things we never really thought we'd do. Like, I'm sure you never imagined you'd be reunited with mom, but it happened. And it_ seemed_ impossible, didn't it? It's like the art store's situation. Although it may seem hopeless now...well...miracles _have_ happened, Dad," I reminded him, smiling a little bit.

My dad smiled back, and pulled me to his side as we walked. "Yes, that's for sure. You're right."

"I know I am," I said, glad I was lightening the mood. "When am I _not_ right?" I teased.

My dad laughed. "Never, Shannon. Never."

* * *

Our house looked warm and inviting from down the street, and I was eager to get inside. My mother was just serving dinner, and Josie had gone to bed a while ago. I ate dinner with my parents, ignoring their conversation about keeping the art store in business. I was getting really tired of it.

I often felt bad, selfish, because I was happy while other were not. I was engaged to be married on June eleventh, only two weeks away. I still hadn't made my wedding dress yet; a task I had been putting off until the last minute. I was no seamstress--at all, but I didn't have the money for a new dress. Peter Langer and I were to be married in the same church my mother got married in. It was to be a small, simple wedding, just as theirs had been. We were inviting our families, of course, and our closest friends. Vivian was to be my maid of honor, and Luke was to be Peter's best man. With all the excitement of the wedding, it was easy to be distracted from our country-wide issue.

After dinner, I went into my bedroom, deciding that if I never started the sketch for my outline of the dress, it would never happen. I would end up walking down the aisle in my work clothes.

I took a pencil and a piece of paper, not quite sure what to draw. I had never created any form of clothing, let alone _drawn_ clothing. And a _wedding dress_...this was going to be interesting.

The first few sketches were terrible. Possibly the worst things I've ever drawn in my life. How on earth would a wedding dress ever form from this?

After the most frustrating hour of my life, I gave up, throwing away all the scraps of paper and throwing the pencils back into the drawer.

I changed into my nightgown, prepared to spend the remainder of the night reading. I opened my window, and sat on the sill, resting my feet on the opposite end.

After a few minutes, I heard a soft knock on my door.

"Shanny? Are you awake?" It was my mom whispering from the other side of the door.

My mom and I, according to my father, were like identical twins. Sure, we had the same physical traits, but I could never compare myself to mom. She had always been and always would be more beautiful then I could ever dream to be.

"Come on in, Mom."

She entered with a rectangular, white cardboard box in her arms and a smile on her face.

"I just thought I'd show you something before you went to sleep," she murmured quietly, so Josie wouldn't wake up.

She sat down on my bed, setting the box next to her.

I knit my eyebrows, intrigued. I got up from the side of the window and sat next to her.

"What is it?"

She smiled wider. "Open it up and see."

I pulled the lid off the box, and I smiled at what I saw.

I recognized the dress immediately; considering I would never forget the day my parents got married. The day when I finally had a family; the day I became complete, whole.

"...It's your wedding dress," I murmured.

"Yes."

I carefully lifted the lace dress out of the box, afraid to grip it too hard in case it fell apart. My mom had looked so pretty in this...I still remembered my father's face when she had walked down the aisle.

"Mom, it so...well, you looked beautiful in it."

My mom laughed. "Hmm, I don't know."

I whisked my head towards her, questioning her sanity. "What do you mean, you _don't know_? Seriously mom, you don't see yourself very clearly."

She shrugged. "No, I was just thinking, I wasn't half as pretty as _you'll_ look in it." Her voice was nonchalant.

She couldn't be serious. "_What_? No, mom. It's your dress, I couldn't possibly..."

She put her hands on my shoulders. "You must. I mean, goodness knows, you'll never finish that dress design on time!" She gestured with her chin to the trash can full of balled up pieces of paper.

I laughed along with her. "Yes, that's probably true, but...Mom, it's...I_ couldn't_! It's yours..."

"And now it's yours. Try it on. I'm positive it will fit beautifully on you."

"Mom..." I protested, but my willpower was slowly shredding to pieces.

* * *

When I had the dress on, I stood in the full length mirror, looking at myself with shocked eyes. I didn't look like me. I looked as my mother had on her wedding day, which seemed like it was only yesterday. That had been the first time I'd seen Peter. He had been sitting with his family in one of the pews, and I briefly noticed his golden hair, and his chocolate brown eyes. That had been the day my life had officially begun—my family was officially whole, and I had met my soul mate. It had been like magic—everything had fallen into place too perfectly. If I were to wear this at my wedding, would that mean something magical would happen? I smiled at the thought.

I couldn't sleep that night. With so many things going on, sleep seemed to be the last thing on my to-do list. The wedding was in a mere fourteen days, and I desperately wished that there was some way to quicken the time. I longed to be with Peter permanently. We had gone through so much together; whether it was adolescence, separation, economy struggles, you name it. And besides the time when Celia Anderson attempted to rip us apart, we had stayed together through every tough time.

Ah, Celia Anderson. She had been pretty, rich, and had the majority of the boys in the eighth grade worshipping the ground her designer high heels walked on. There had been a miscommunication between the three of us. I had believed Peter had been falling for her. I had allowed my naive, jealous, thirteen year old hormones get in the way of what I saw of Peter. Of course, it didn't help when Celia had kissed Peter against his will, and I had walked in on them at the wrong time. But a month spent apart almost destroyed Peter and I. But we hadn't realized it until we were reunited. From that day on, I knew that I could never be apart from him.

Of course, I had seen a more tragic separation between two lovers. My very own parents, actually. Thirteen years had not caused them to fall out of love. The terrible sinking of the R.M.S. Titanic had caused my mother to believe my father dead—a concept I could never imagine being me and Peter.

My thoughts became less and less hectic as my eyelids grew heavier. Sleep almost took over my mind—almost. My body instinctively sprang up in bed when I heard a slight tap on my window. The sound was vaguely familiar...

I smiled, the tiredness forgotten.

This wasn't exactly routine, considering I hadn't done this in a while. But I remembered the things I had to do to not get caught.

I silently flew over to my bedroom door, peering out in the hallway to make sure my parents were asleep. I then tucked my pillows under the bed covers, and proceeded to slide the window open.

"Come on down here, Rapunzel!" Peter called in a low voice.

I stifled a giggle before I swung my leg over the ledge, and started to climb down the trellis like a ladder.

I heard Peter's muffled laughter from below me. When I was low enough, he grabbed my waist and lifted me down the rest of the way.

I wrapped my arms around him, feeling relieved to be in his embrace again.

"Come on," he whispered, and I could feel his warm breath in my ear. "Let's go to our picnic table."

We broke into a run, hand in hand.

The same exact events had occurred four years ago. Peter had snuck to my house, called me down to him, and we had snuck away to the Myrtle Street Beach. There, we had declared ourselves and kissed for the first time. We had only done this a few times after that, but it had been at least two years since the last time.

We both broke into a fit of laughter once we reached our destination.

"I feel like a child all over again," I giggled out, shaking my head as we trudged through the white sand and black night.

Peter smiled. Once again, I was awestruck by his impossible beauty—his hair reflected the moonlight, making it appear even more butterscotch. His smiling eyes bore into mine—they were eyes I could easily lose myself in.

"I know what you mean," Peter agreed. "We haven't done this in so long." He paused, then chuckled. "I miss those rebellious teenage years."

Our laughter sounded throughout the vacant beach.

The waves crashed on the shore behind us, and I could hear my pulse over the sound.

In one swift movement, Peter pulled me down, and we were lying on top of the wooden picnic table. Fingers intertwined, he pressed his lips to my cheek.

"Only two more weeks, Shan," he murmured, using his nickname for me.

"I know." I sighed in frustration. "Why did we decide to have the wedding so _late_? I want to get married _now_!" I whined.

Peter laughed. "Stubborn, are you?" He teased. We both knew quite well I was stubborn, I had always been stubborn, and I always would be stubborn.

"A bit."

"Don't worry. You'll be wearing a wedding ring soon enough," he assured me.

"I know." I held my left hand up to my face, trying to imagine it there, above my engagement ring. It was almost too easy. I could imagine myself wearing it every day for the rest of my life—folding laundry with it, doing dishes with it...hmm... That reminded me.

"Peter?" I asked, breaking the pattern of the waves.

"Yes, love?"

"Where are we going to live? I feel completely ridiculous for not considering that we actually have to buy a _house_."

He bit his lip, hesitant, and seemingly disappointed. "Couldn't you have _waited_ to ask that question? I'd hoped that you wouldn't realize that fact until after the wedding, and that you'd remain oblivious. It was supposed to be a surprise." He sighed.

I knit my eyebrows. "What was?"

"I bought us a place already. An apartment downtown. I guess you could call it a wedding gift." He shrugged, completely casual.

My heart seemed to stop beating. "You bought us an _apartment_?!" I whisper-shouted, too shocked to make actual sound come out of my mouth.

Peter nodded. "It's only temporary. Just for when we first start out. We'll have to find a bigger place eventually," he explained.

I thought about this for a moment. Well, at least we would have a place to call home after the wedding. I smiled.

"Must you _always_ be the responsible one?" I teased him.

He laughed. "No, not always. Just ninety nine percent of the time. Someone has to remember to get a house. Where did you expect us to live, with your_ parents_?"

I shuddered at the thought. Just because my dad liked Peter didn't mean he was thrilled about the fact that I was getting married at seventeen. I had to constantly remind him that Mom was my age when she met him, and they would have gotten married if it weren't for the fact that she thought he had died.

"Where is the apartment building?" I asked out of curiosity.

My hand unintentionally in his and he was toying absentmindedly with my engagement ring.

"Um, the white brick one on Park Street."

I chuckled at the dimly familiar name.

"What?" He questioned, confused.

"My dad lived in that same building before my mom and I came along," I told him. "That will be an interesting déjà vu."

He smiled. "Huh, that's ironic."

We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the ocean water breaking onto the sandy shoreline.

After a few minutes, my back became sore from sitting up. I leaned back so I was lying across the picnic table, my head rested against the hard wood.

Peter followed after me, and slid his arm under my neck so I would be more comfortable. I snuggled in closer to him and rested my head on his chest. I put my hand over his heart, listening to his heartbeat. I sighed in contentment.

"Do you think it will always be like this?" I asked in a whisper.

"Like what?"

"I mean, do you think even sixty or so years from now when we're old and wrinkled, we'll still be as happy as we are now? I mean, I'm _happy._ Completely and ridiculously happy. I don't ever want it to end, Peter," I explained. And it was true. I was really ecstatic. Peter's presence tended to make me feel that way.

I could almost hear Peter smiling in the darkness.

"Of course we will," he chuckled. "Even when we're old and wrinkled." His tone turned more serious now, more intense. "My love will grow stronger for you every day. I don't have a doubt in my mind that you'll always be my life—my reason for living. We can conquer the world together, Shan. All we need is each other."

And I knew, with every fiber of my being, that Peter was right.

**Alrighty then. REVIEW please and tell me if you think it's worth continuing**


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